


G is for Gifts

by lillianschild



Series: Guy & Marian Acrostic Series [4]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Historical, Middle Ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillianschild/pseuds/lillianschild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of brief acrostic fics revolving around words beginning with the letters used to spell Guy and Marian's full names- Sir Guy (Crispin) of Gisborne and Lady Marian Fitzwalter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	G is for Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth one-shot in the series and spans from “Will you Tolerate This?” (S01E01) to the beginning of “The Taxman Cometh” (S01E06).

 

 

_Gift, bestowal, surrender?_

_Pure symbol, sign_

_That I want to give myself._

_How I'd like to be_

_What I give you_

_And not the one that gives it to you._

 

I've received very few gifts in my life; not one since my mother's passing. Whatever I have has been seized or granted with a "condition" attached to it. They're the rules of the game, one I've been playing for a very long while and one whose fruits I've reaped with transient joy, knowing that no matter how fast I hold onto my conquests they will in all probability slip through my fingers in the end.

Therefore, it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Huntingdon burst onto the scene once again and claimed back that which had been bestowed upon me after tainting my soul several shades of black in the service of a treacherous master I need and loathe in equal measure. No, Huntingdon's return wasn't unexpected. And yet, it's brought about a deep despair I struggle to keep in check to protect what little self-respect I've managed to cling to.

Losing my stewardship of Locksley is a setback I might have brushed off in the past. But now, when my heart is fully enslaved by the woman whose love's the only gift I yearn to be granted, that sudden forfeiture turns the chasm between what little I have and what I've dreamt to win for keeps into an abyss of black and utter desolation.

The prospect of a future without her renders my world a barren landscape of eternal loneliness, and the crying wolf which resides under these black wrappings smothers its mournful howl to hide its bleeding heart from the person who might feast like a scavenger on its carcass. From where I am I can see the moon and feel its light; unable to reach it, I see others absorb its warmth while hope gets eclipsed on my horizon.

And there he sits, the spawn of the devil with his viperous smile, deriving sick pleasure from my predicament.

“My Lord, I do not think that this is a laughing matter!”

“Sorry, remind me ! How many men do you have ?”

“Twenty-four.”

“And he had...”

“One. But the point is...”

“How did you let him take the house ?”

I rein in my urge to knock another tooth out of his sharkish mouth just to keep the one secret that would reveal what he sees as incompetence for what it really is, my desperate attempt to salvage what little is left of my knightly honour, the only gift I can offer her even if it means swallowing my pride and giving up ground to my sworn enemy.

"Technically it is still his property.”

My words leave a bitter aftertaste in my mouth, especially when I remember two orphans for whom nobody stood up as they were dispossessed of what was rightfully theirs. Were she not constantly present in my thoughts and my dreams, I would forsake my oath of honour and any scruple I might still have for a taste of revenge. After all, the man that's threatening my one chance at happiness is the same one who was granted the gift that King Henry had given to my father; the birthright I would have handed down to my progeny, Marian's and mine.

* * *

                                                       

Until Marian the council of nobles had always been a tedious business I had to attend to witness Vasey's vagaries and open threats. Now it's the moment of the month I long for the most because I can feast my eyes on the object of my affection without hindrance, as I pretend to enjoy the spectacle put on by Nottingham's grovelling lords.

However, this time I stand in the shadows with a heavy heart, knowing the way things are she's more unattainable than ever. I have only my dreams to sustain me, and I cling to them stubbornly, praying for a blessing, a gift from God to show me there's still something in me she might see as worthy to be loved.

Each decision made, each deed I commit in the name of King and country, carrying out the orders of my self-serving master, distances me more from the comfort of knowing I'll rejoin everyone I've lost in my life when my time comes.

And yet, I still pray. And yes, sinner as I am, my pleas are answered on occasion. And the heart of my mother's son soars and yearns for the moment when Vasey's henchman can break his chains and be the man she dreamt he'd be, the man Marian could learn to love without shame.

"Discipline has never been a problem on my estates," states Huntingdon haughtily.

"Times have changed," replies Vasey, clearly resenting the interruption.

"Not for the better," the knight remarks in a steely way, and a spark of hope's suddenly ignites in me.

"You, of all people, should know that the King needs funds to fight our Holy War. What is your proposal to raise money for the King ?" my master goads him on.

"Stop all taxes! Today!" exclaims Locksley's lord, and my hope increases in leaps and bounds as I remember a bragging teenager always ready to show he knew best.

"Amusing," chuckles Nottingham's sheriff.

"I did not joke."

"What we need are hungry men! Our noble friend seems to forget that hungry men are virtuous," continues Vasey in an ironic tone, walking up and down the table as he addresses the nobles and Huntingdon in particular.

I know my master doesn't tolerate fools and anyone who dares steal his spotlight is either a knave or a lover of life on the edge. At the moment, I can't decide to which of those categories Huntingdon belongs, but he's clearly ignorant of who he's crossing swords with, and his retorts are clearly riling the viperous snake.

"There is a celebration of my return tonight in the Great Hall."

"Indeed."

"Won't I trust none of those virtuous men will be feasting?"

That final taunt seals the deal. I can see the sun starting to rise on my horizon again.

* * *

                                              

It's been a little over a month since Huntingdon's open defiance banished him to the forests of Sherwood and paved my way back to Locksley, a month since I started my wooing of Marian in earnest.

I can still recall how clumsy and inarticulate I felt when I rushed to Knighton, eager to see her face now that I owned the keys to what I dreamt could be my kingdom, _our_ kingdom with her as my queen.

“I _would be pleased if you would come and visit me at Locksley, now that it's mine.”_

_“I do not know.”_

_“I have ambitions which are greater, of course, you know that. But for now to have land once more in the Gisborne name, my father would be proud.”_

_“I am very glad for you.”_

_“Some of my men, I know this for a fact, used to laugh at my title. Guy of Gisborne... when there was no Gisborne.”_

_“And Locksley is your Gisborne?”_

I wished then I could find the perfect lines to tell her the gift of her love or even her friendship could be my Gisborne, but I've never mastered words the way I do my sword and she's always had the power to render me a bumbling besotted fool.

_“Yes, actually... I am intent on changing its name.”_

_“Does changing a name really make a difference?”_

_“When a woman marries, she changes her name. It makes a difference.”_

I realised then I'd chosen the wrong approach to win her heart and be in her good graces. Marian's always been very jealous of her independence and will never bend her will if she considers she's being cornered to do or think what others expect or demand of her.

I berated myself for my clumsiness, especially when it's her assertive and rebellious nature that has drawn me to her in the first place. A man more versed in the art of wooing would have approached her in much the same way one would a skittish filly.

_“And what of Robin?”_

Huntingdon. The bane of my existence.

_“What of Robin?”_ I asked tensely, fighting an almost lost battle to keep my animosity in check. Although it still irks me, Marian was once my enemy's betrothed and, despite the broken engagement and the years which have elapsed, I can understand a fair maid's reluctance to forget her first love.

_“He will contest your acquisition of his lands, surely.”_

_“He will die if he is found guilty.There 's no need for a trial. He will hang in the morning.”_

_“There must be a trial. It is the law.”_

Marian. Her belief that truth and justice will always prevail never ceases to astound me. It makes me wish I could see the world through her eyes and shed this cynical self life has branded me with. I long for that gift I lost along the way but know innocence is a state which can never be recaptured.

_“Yeah, but he is an outlaw.You see, in these straitened times, the Sheriff has made special provision. Outlaws are classed as enemies of war, thus we can hold them without trial.”_

_“No."_

_"And we can execute them without trial.”_

_“No, it cannot be.”_

_“We're at war.”_

_“Yes, in the Holy Land. That does not mean we dispense with justice here.”_

Justice. Where was justice when my father was left to die like a dog, away from those who loved him, ostracised like a pariah after a life serving his king and fighting by his side with courage and honour? What justice was there when two defenceless children were evicted from their home and condemned to fend for themselves, to lie and steal in order to survive on scraps just because they had been born of a Norman and shared their blood with a leper?

There's no justice in this kingdom, only in the one beyond. And I can't find my way without her; this passionate creature's the only beacon of light in the darkness which surrounds me and threatens to swallow me whole.

And I come to her bearing gifts like the Wise Men did all those centuries ago when they walked like pilgrims to Nazareth.

I knock at the doors of Heaven knowing myself unworthy, wishing offering myself could be enough.

I'll keep offering, eager to believe like she does there's still justice in this world.

                                                      

**Author's Note:**

> The extract of poetry at the beginning belongs to “Beyond Being Yours" by Linda Marie Van Tassell.
> 
> The lines of dialogue were taken almost verbatim from "Will You Tolerate This?" (S01E01) and "Sheriff Got your Tongue?" (S01E02). No infringement intended.


End file.
